Command Me To Be Well (One Shot)
by SandsWinchester
Summary: "Imagine Dean in the morning after you spend a night together." Inspired by Hozier's song, "Take Me to Church".


He was awake before she was. He always was. Maybe somewhere deep down, a part of him knew this was the only time she would put up with him gawking at her. And gawk he did. Oh boy, did he gawk! How could he not?

Her lashes rested upon the curve of her smooth cheek. Her brow was marred by a tiny scar which he remembered was made in some scuffle with a werewolf. He had been there, and he'd viciously shot the son of a bitch. Nothing was going to hurt her, not if he could help it.

_If the heavens ever did speak,_

_She's the last true mouthpiece…_

She was beautiful. She was the most beautiful thing in his sad miserable life. She was beautiful from the inside, to her very core. He couldn't understand how someone could get into this life of a hunter and still keep her belief in all things good, but she did. _"Good things happen, Dean. Sometimes all you need is faith."_ Wasn't that what she always said? Even when Heaven and angels didn't make sense, and whatever faith he had in the man upstairs wavered, she was always there. She always made him believe that it was all worth fighting for.

_Every Sunday's getting more bleak,_

_Fresh poison each week…_

Things were getting harder though. It was not the same as before. Hunts were getting complicated. It was no longer about simple salt and burns, or ridding the world of ghouls, vampires and what not. They were in with the big fish, caught in the crossfire of a battle between Heaven and Hell. He'd fought to save the world more than once now, even if it sometimes felt like it just _wanted _to end.

He'd thought more often than he should have that maybe if it wants to end so badly, he should just _let _it end. She wouldn't have it though. _"Always keep fighting, babe. It'll make sense in the end," _or so she would say, and he'd pick up the gauntlet once more, to be the hero she thought he was.

_We were born sick, you heard them say it._

He was no hero.

Instinctively, his hand went to touch the scar-like mark on his arm. _The Mark of Cain_ of all things. The things he'd done, the things it made him do…after seeing it all with her own eyes, how could she _still_ think he was any kind of hero? But she did. She believed in him.

Deep down, he knew, he didn't deserve it. Maybe he never had.

_My church offers no absolutes…_

He grew up thinking that there was always a demarcating line between what's right and what's wrong, between good and evil. There was a '_them' _and an '_us'_. That line was getting blurrier by the day. He was starting to feel more and more like one of _them_.

"I'm sorry, Y/N," he whispered, careful as not to wake her. "I wish I knew how to be the hero you think I am. I just don't see a way." A single tear escaped his eye. With no one to see his misery, he let it fall, not even caring to wipe it away.

_She tells me 'Worship in the bedroom…'_

_The only heaven I'll be sent to is when I'm alone with you…_

And yet when the days grew darker and the nights seemed longer, he found his salvation in her, however brief it lasted. _"I love you, Dean,"_ she would tell him, staring deep into his eyes. Every day, and every night, she would tell him. She would tell it with words, and sometimes it was just there in the way she looked at him. It was there when she brushed a piece of pie away from his chin. It was there when she smiled at him even when he forgot to bring her a cinnamon roll. He could see it even when she was mad at him for getting a cut or a bruise in some hunt. He felt it deeply even when she said it wordlessly. He was starting to believe it, but no way in hell would he ever be worthy of it.

_I was born sick, but I love it._

_Command me to be well…_

_Amen. Amen. Amen._

He was no hero. He was just a man, and in her, he found his peace. The sickness within him found its cure in her unwavering love. He didn't deserve her, but she gave herself to him anyway, unconditionally. Whatever powers that were, he thanked them every day for sending her into his godforsaken life.

_I'm a pagan of the good times,_

_My lover's the sunlight…_

He remembered how he had been before he met her. He had been naught but a hollow man, leaving a trail of broken hearts in his wake, never finding what it truly meant to love someone not just with his heart but with his core itself. She had taught him how. She had taught him to love with his soul, and love her he did. Completely. Irrevocably.

_To keep the Goddess on my side, she demands a sacrifice…_

But when had fate ever been kind? Fate was cruel, and it always had been. She could tell him in so many words that this thing between them was meant to be but he knew the truth. Nothing lasted. Dean Winchester was cursed, and there will always be a sacrifice to be made. _Always._

_No masters or kings when the ritual begins._

_There's no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin._

_Only then I am human…_

_Only then I am clean…_

There was a time when he had even dared to hope for a life with her. He had dreamed of a life unmarred by the darkness that always seemed to shadow him – a life of happiness, where she would be safe. A normal life for them both.

He'd given up on that dream long before it even properly formed in his mind. This life he led, it could only end in one way…

Still in those rare moments, when she touched him gently, and made him forget there was a side of him that he'd rather forget, he felt different. He felt _clean_, washed of all the sins he'd committed, cleansed of all the blood in his hands.

"Whatever happens now, we'll face it together. Promise me that?" she had asked him last night, her beautiful eyes imploring his.

_Take me to church,_

_I'll worship like a dog,_

_At the shrine of your lies, I'll tell you my sins…_

"I promise," he had lied. He had lied to her for the very first time. It was a promise he couldn't keep for there were monsters he could no longer keep at bay. These monsters he didn't know how to defeat for they lay hidden deep within himself. It was easy to kill things he could see, roaring at him, but how could he ever overcome the hell within himself?

_Offer me that deathless death…_

He had no choice left.

The Mark was getting worse, and Cain's fateful prophecy reverberated in his mind. Some nights, it was all he could hear. It was starting to overpower the musical sound of her laughter. He was failing to hear her promising declarations of love. He was fading into himself, and he was terrified what else would emerge from within.

There was no way in hell that he would risk her in all of this. She _had _to be safe. He would make sure of it. He would do whatever it took to keep her safe, even if it meant a fate worse than death itself for him, a life without her.

He resisted the urge to lay one last kiss on her lips. Waking her would ruin his plan even before he started. He fought off the regret he felt and told himself that no matter what happened, he would always have last night. He had made love to her as if it was the last time, for he had known even when she hadn't that it was indeed exactly that. The passion with which he loved her, as she loved him back in the exact same ferocity, would be etched into his memory for the rest of his life as long as it may.

At the door, he took one last look at her. "You may never forgive me," he said though she couldn't hear him in her sleep. "But I do this for one reason and one reason only. I love you, Y/N. I always have, and I always will." Another silent sneaked past his lashes.

He had no idea what his life would be without her laughter shining through the darkness. Yet the truth of it all was that she _was _his life. Now she would be safe from his dark fate. And she would be safe from him. That would be the only solace he would have. It would have to be enough.

His heart was breaking…but he pushed through, closing the door behind him, putting more barriers between him and her.

_Good God, let me give you my life…_

He was doing this for _her_, he reminded himself, and he disappeared into the night. No goodbyes. No more promises. He was just…gone, and all that was heard was the rumbling of the Impala fading into the distance.

There will always be a sacrifice to be made. Something is always bound to break. A life was always supposed to be taken in the name of something righteous. Innocence was meant to be lost in the throes of a vicious battle. But Y/N was not going to be that sacrifice. Dean made sure of it.


End file.
